My Lord and Master
by springburn
Summary: The Three Musketeers. His is my first attempt at writing Cardinal Richelieu. The story concentrates on two main characters. The female, my own invention. There will be twelve chapters.
1. Chapter 1 The Chosen One

My first attempt at writing the Cardinal. This is not really going to be a love story in the conventional sense. I've a feeling it won't end well. Descriptively I'll try to be as accurate as possible although the female character name is my own invention. A bit of info about The Cardinal...Born Armand Jean Du Plessis Cardinal/Duke of Richelieu and Fronsac, in 1585, he was a nobleman in his own right, consecrated as a bishop in 1607 aged only 22. He was created Cardinal in 1622 aged 37. He was also foreign secretary or 'first minister' to Louis XIII, and wielded great power. He died, aged 57 in 1642.

The story will be in four parts, or episodes. It is very thin on plot, and concentrates solely on the two main characters. The story opens at a May masque ball in Louis XIII's honour. The Cardinal is on the lookout for a new mistress.

MY LORD AND MASTER.

CHAPTER ONE.

THE CHOSEN ONE.

A swirl of colour and music as the revellers packed the hall. They drew apart as the King and his Consort entered. One by one they swept their bows and curtsies as the Royals passed by.  
Armand Jean du Plessis, resplendent, all in red, skirted the periphery of the room like a predatory jackal, a minion by his side, whom he whispered to, confidentially, from time to time, hand raised to his mouth.  
His eyes searched the throng, darting across the faces of the women, until he saw the one that took his fancy. He spoke quietly to his servant again, and, seemingly satisfied with the information received, he left with a theatrical swish of his cloak.

Minette d'Auvergne was minor nobility. Originally from a good family, she and her siblings were, nevertheless, tainted by association, as their mother had been banished, following an affair. Her father, having contracted small-pox, died the following year. Facing penury, she was sent to court, in the hope she may attract a wealthy husband. The man whose attention she attracted, however, was not in search of a wife, and was one of the most powerful in all France.

The apartments of Cardinal Richelieu were a series of rooms, one leading into another. Heavy doors to each room represented a physical barrier to the one beyond, and the more powerful and familiar one was, determined which of these rooms they were permitted to enter. The chief reception room was where foreign dignitaries, emissaries and ambassadors were received. A withdrawing room, led from that, where Armand could retreat, to take food or rest, or relieve himself, in between greeting guests.  
There was a robing room, in which his servants would prepare him and dress him for the day, or where he could change clothes if necessary. The final doors were to his private, or privy chambers, which only his man-servants, a chamber-maid, his most trusted confidants and his mistresses were admitted. Here, His Eminence, worked and rested, cleansed himself and performed his religious devotions.

It was into this inner sanctum that Minette was shown. The servant left her, and she stood alone in the centre of the chamber, gazing around her, nervously. Lit by many yellow wax candles, which flickered and danced in the draft; the room was rich and well appointed. A large mahogany desk stood to one side, a heavy leather covered chair beside it. Tapestries and fine hangings adorned the walls. On the far side there stood a small altar; covered in a fine Honiton lace cloth, from England. Candles in tall holders on either side, a silver sensor burned with a pungent incense; behind these rested, a religious triptych, depicting the crucified Christ in the centre, the Virgin Mary with the Christ child on the left, the Fleur de Lis, the emblem of the Kings of France, on the right, shimmering in the candle glow. Resting open, on the table top, held with beaded book weights was a beautifully illuminated psalter; bound in softest cow hide, pages of vellum, adorned with scripture written using a stylus with the finest of nibs.  
On a raised dais stood a vast bed. Posts in each corner hung with deep red damask. Horsehair mattress, the finest linen sheets from Flanders, topped with a silk coverlet, all the way from the Far East, embroidered with birds and flowers in a myriad of colours.  
Through a side door, another room could be glimpsed, containing heavy oak chests and a wardrobe for clothing. Porcelain ewers contained water for washing and ablutions, all the trappings of luxury. The Cardinal was known to be a fastidious man.

The doors opened, to admit Cardinal Richelieu himself. She turned to face him. He was handsome; tall, lean and rangy. Grey hair, curling slightly under his zucchetto. Exquisite hands, under a lace cuff, long dexterous fingers, a ring on the little finger of the left. A large, heavy, gold cross hung on a chain around his neck.  
His face was taciturn, intelligent grey blue eyes burned with interest, as he regarded her, touching his moustache and beard as he did so. Tongue licking the lips of his, rather cruel, mouth.  
She watched him intently.  
"Cast down your eyes woman." He said, crossing to stand in front of her.  
Minette lowered her gaze to the floor.  
"Do you know why you are here?"  
"No, Your Eminence."  
She did not dare glance up.  
"I have a proposition for you." He continued, in a matter of fact manner.  
"The sight of you pleases me, and I am looking for a distraction. What is your age?"  
"Twenty, Your Eminence."  
Slowly, he began to move around her. She was young...he liked them young, and innocent. The older they were, the more experienced; the harder it was to subdue them, control them and make them his.  
"I will take care of you, you will want for nothing, if you please me. But do not accept this lightly. In return I demand complete control, complete loyalty, you will become mine and mine only. Do you understand?"  
"Yes, Your Eminence."  
Minette felt her cheeks flush and her heart beat faster.  
"If you do not accept my terms, now is the time to say so. Otherwise, do you agree to my proposal?"  
She raised her eyes, just a little, her voice sounded distant, even to herself. She would be secure, have a degree of status. Be warm and fed and clothed. Have a place to live. The alternative was poverty, hunger, even prostitution. How could she refuse?  
"I accept." She replied.

He stood in front of her again, close enough for her to feel his breath.  
"You will submit to my will, you will do everything I ask of you. You will answer to me always. I will own you, command you, you will be subservient to me and me alone. Is that clear?"  
Unsure of her voice now, she nodded.  
"Speak!" He demanded, pulling up her chin with his hand, and bringing her eyes level with his own.  
"I accept." She whispered.  
He let her go, and stepped back.  
"Undress for me."  
She locked eyes with him, but his glare was ice. Cold and calculating.  
With trembling hands she began to unlace her bodice. Unfastening her stays, she removed them, then her chemise, exposing her breasts. Her skin was fair; milky white, soft, beautiful.  
Not daring to look up, she fumbled, loosening her skirts, then her petticoats and let them drop.  
She blushed with shame at her nakedness, as he began to circle her again.  
Petite, fair, with bright blue eyes and an open, expressive face. Tiny waist, little hands, pert and smooth, untainted and ripe for the plucking...he smiled to himself.  
A stroke down her spine, to her buttocks; made her gasp sharply. His hand grazed across her bosom, pausing at her nipple, then moving on.  
"Have you known the feel of a man?" His voice was thick, not more than a deep rumble.  
"No, Your Eminence."  
Behind her again, she felt his hand fondle her backside once more, she was expecting him to touch her intimately, and inwardly braced herself for the contact, biting her lip, instead she felt the cold sensation of leather. The strap passed between her legs and around her body, fastening at her back. The harness clicked into place.  
"My maid servant will be your maid servant. She is in my employ and is loyal to me. She will see to it that you do not transgress. She will help you wash and dress each day. You will wear this whenever you are not with me. It will only be removed when you are here, or wherever I am when I send for you, or when you bleed. No one will touch you but me. You will not touch yourself. You are mine. Am I clear?"  
Tears began to form under her lashes. She trembled.  
"Yes, Your Eminence."  
"Good! Dress yourself...you are to be ready whenever the carriage comes for you. Please me, and all will be well, disappoint me and you will pay dearly. You are dismissed."  
A servant appeared, seemingly without being summoned.  
Minette was escorted, with the maidservant, to a fine carriage. After a short journey, they alighted at a modest residence. Neat, clean and furnished with taste and finesse, she entered her new abode. Her new life.


	2. Chapter 2 You are Mine

CHAPTER TWO.

YOU ARE MINE.

Armand Jean du Plessis very much missed the company of a beautiful woman. It had been a while. Mistresses had come and gone. Marie; he had been fond of her, but she succumbed to the smallpox, as did many at the time. Louisa; had to be sent away to the country, when she was found to be carrying a child, and had died in childbed, a great shame, but there it was. He was in need of a new plaything.

For Minette, her first night in the residence, was a restless one. The maidservant clearly had instructions not to let her out of her sight. The harness she wore, whilst not exactly uncomfortable, was a constant reminder, she was aware of it at all times. Which was, of course, the point. It was odd that, not being able to touch herself, made her think about wanting to do just that.  
The carriage arrived for her the very next evening.  
She was ushered into the privy chamber as before.  
Richelieu, apparently writing, looked up as she entered. Laying down the quill, he rose slowly from the chair, and advanced towards her.  
At first she held his gaze, steadily, but as fear overtook her, she cast her eyes downwards.  
With one finger under her chin, he raised her head slightly.  
"Are you afraid of me?"  
"Yes, my Lord."  
"Good! You should be."  
He bent his head down and kissed her. The kiss was not harsh, as she'd expected, but warm and deep. She found herself leaning into him, so that when he pulled back, she almost toppled forwards.  
"Undress."  
As before, she disrobed. He watched, eyes roaming over her body as she revealed herself. He released her from the harness, and pulled her closer to him, his hands travelling over her bare flesh with practised ease.  
Pushing her a few steps until her backside came in contact with the desk, he bent her backwards, until she lay almost under him.  
"Open your legs." He barked, his voice a rasp, filled with desire.  
She obeyed, and she felt his hand against her, fingers exploring. Gasping aloud at the sensation, without thought, she clasped the front of his leather jerkin, with both hands. Throwing her head back, as a wave of heat rocked her. She could feel his own arousal, but he did nothing to sate it. Her mind became filled with the rhythm of his hand, she could concentrate on nothing else, her own hands still clutched his tunic, thighs trembling, breathing ragged, she was close...so close...then he stopped abruptly. Leaning to kiss her again, he released himself from her grip and backed away, leaving her panting and confused.  
"Get dressed."  
Sitting up, she looked at him questioningly, afraid to speak.  
"Your Eminence...?"  
"GO!"  
Gathering up her dress and petticoats, legs still weak with desire, she hurried from the room, where her maid, fastened the belt around her and helped lace her corset.  
All the way home in the carriage, she burned. Why had he stopped so suddenly? Had she disappointed him in some way? The ache lasted for several hours, before, through sheer willpower, she damped it down.  
The following evening the carriage arrived again.  
Minette did not consider herself a shrinking violet, but the power this man exuded, cowed, yet excited her. It aroused her senses, so that she was already wet with anticipation before she reached his apartments.  
On arrival, she did not wait to be told to disrobe, but loosened her clothing immediately. The Cardinal was seated on his large leather armchair. He was dressed in a long silken dressing gown. A glass of wine at his elbow. Once naked, and without any signal from him, she knelt at his feet, head bowed. A ghost of a smile played across his lips, as he unlocked her, beckoning to her with a curl of one finger, she crawled into his lap. She could feel him hard, through his robe, and she encircled is neck with her arms, nuzzling against him.

Yes, she was going to do whatever she could to please him, her very life depended upon it, he held the power to give or to take. Somehow she would endure, she would survive, and preserve the life she was not willing to relinquish, she would hold on to it tenaciously. This was the reason she'd been sent to court; unwanted by everyone, despised by her family, starved of affection, a burden. In search of a wealthy benefactor. Against the odds, she had secured one, it was in her best interests to hold on to that for as long as she could.  
Reaching down, she touched him lightly, just the merest of brushes, but he bucked beneath her, and made a whimpering sound.  
He leaned his head against the back of the chair, eyes closed, lips slightly apart, as her fingers slid inside the gown, she took him in her small hand and pleasured him. Her own arousal was deep, but she tried to ignore it.  
When his release came, he groaned, reaching to kiss her hard on the mouth.  
Pushing her away from him, he made to rise and repair to his garderobe, but she stayed his hand.  
"Let me, Your Eminence," she said softly.  
Pouring water into the basin, from the pitcher, she wetted a cloth, easing him out of his robe, so that he stood, naked, before her, she began to cleanse him, the act almost reverential. He watched her movements carefully, enjoying the sight of her, humbled, as she performed this office.  
For a man of his years, his body was taut and muscular, he was pleasing to the eye. Minette was a pains to make the ritual as sensual as possible. She wanted him to remember how good it felt.  
Drying him off, she helped him into fresh clothes and poured him a cup of ruby coloured wine.  
He took the proffered goblet and drank.  
"You have done well." He said.  
"You may go."  
She was about to protest, but the look in his eye forbade her, so she remained silent.  
Once more she was dismissed unfulfilled.

A whole month or more passed, with increasing frustration and desperation for her own release. Locked in chastity day and night, apart from her visits to his rooms, or when she bled. Constantly denied, bought to the edge of the abyss over and over again, until she was ready to fall on her knees and beg him, plead with him to give her relief. Seeking only his own pleasure, touching her with his fingers only, not using his mouth or tongue on her, never once had he taken her or seemed that he might. He liked her to bring him to orgasm, using her hands or sometimes her mouth, and she obliged willingly, many times, in the hope of her own reward, but he always teased her with the promise of what he did not give. As the weeks passed, she began, more and more to relish her visits, his presence became everything to her, all encompassing. He was the only one permitted to touch her, and she ached for him, so on edge was she, that the merest stroke of his hand made her light headed with lust.  
It was Trinity Sunday, and Minette was alone in The Cardinal's privy chamber, awaiting his arrival. All day, she spent in anticipation, she felt emotional, tearful even. Just the thought of his hands on her, caressing her body, stroking him, her sex swollen as it was, the kernel of fire inside her had become an unbearable pain.  
Moving to his private altar, she lit the candles from a taper and knelt before the icon, hands clasped in supplication. Head bowed, eyes closed, tears on her cheeks. She prayed fervently, earnestly, before crossing herself and preparing to rise.  
Richelieu entered the room behind her, unheard and unseen, he saw her there, on her knees. As she stood, genuflecting in silent thanks, he stepped rapidly across the floor and lifted her off her feet, before she even knew what was happening.  
Carrying her towards his bed, she wrapped her arms around his neck. His lips were on hers, hot and eager, his breath came in gasps, rapid and shallow. Almost throwing her down, he was on her instantly, tearing at her clothes, one hand lifting her skirts and feeling for her, while unlacing his own breeches. He forced her legs apart, still kissing her hungrily, as he found her entrance and ground himself inside her. She cried out and he sheathed himself fully, a guttural sound in his throat. He took her roughly, thinking only of his own pleasure and release, but she would not be denied this time. The feel of him, his hands, his mouth, was overwhelming. After so long without, her climax was like a volcano of fire, she arched herself, to take his maximum length, crying out, saying his name,  
"Armand..."

"You are mine...do you hear me? You are mine and mine only." His voice savage, in her ear.

He spilled his seed inside her, and they rode the waves of passion, until spent. Then they lay together, he still above her, she weeping silently, with the ecstasy of finally being allowed relief.  
On this occasion she was not immediately dismissed. Instead she was allowed to cleanse herself and don fresh clothes. He poured wine for her and she drank. Neither of them spoke.  
A bridge had been crossed. Before leaving, and keen to show her gratitude, she fell on her knees before him as he towered over her, she took one of his hands in hers and pressed it to her cheek, kissing it many times, wetting it with her tears. Before he tugged it away.  
"God bless you, my Lord!" She whispered.  
That evening she returned home unharnessed.  
He had broken her in.


	3. Chapter 3 I Am Yours

Between 1635-1648, France was sucked into The Thirty Years War, that the Cardinal was, rightly, so keen to avoid. France was practically besieged on all sides, as The Spanish, Portuguese, and the mighty Hapsburg Empire jockeyed for position and territory. Great swathes of land were laid waste in parts of Germany, the Netherlands, and the Holy Roman Empire. Catholic fought Catholic, as well as Protestant and vice versa. The toll in famine and disease alone is incalculable. He tried diplomacy and negotiation and his policy of war diversion eventually paid dividends for France, even after his death. He was considered an able and competent statesman at the time.

CHAPTER THREE.

I AM YOURS.

Cardinal Richelieu was pursuing a vigorous foreign policy objective against the powerful Hapsburg Empire. His meetings with dignitaries and ambassadors, sought to rein their might and secure a strong position for his beloved France, as war threatened to engulf them all. With the increasing pressure and strain he was under, he began to suffer from debilitating headaches, and his sleep was frequently disturbed with disquieting dreams.  
Minette was summoned to his chambers less often.  
Constantly kept in a state of want, she yearned for him ceaselessly. His tactic of demanding submissiveness and his practice of denial, only served to make her crave his company more.  
To outsiders, she had become his creature; meek and subservient, ever eager to please him. A lap dog. But her position was tenuous and she needed to keep it, if that was what it took, then so be it, she could not afford to be proud. She was naturally pious, honest and showed humility. When he was at his most cruel or angry, she was quiet, demure, modest and reserved. She did not shout or rant, as others had previously, she did not pout or sulk, but was calm and still, timid and yet resolute.  
He sometimes wondered what it would take to break her apparent devotion. Never had he known a mistress quite like her.  
She was on her knees to him now, her bright, open face shining up at him, as he sat, head buried in his hands.  
"Are you tired, my Lord?"  
"I have a headache, that will not cease." He sighed.  
"If you will permit, perhaps I can help alleviate your pain." She replied.  
He looked down at her, her face was kind, concerned, keen.  
"What can you do? The physicians cannot help me..."  
"Will you allow me to try?" Her hands rested on his thighs, just above the knees, as she moved closer.  
"There's nothing..."  
"Please, Armand, let me try." She was seldom permitted to use his name, but there were occasions, when she did, out of bravado, and he did not admonish her.  
Taking his hands in her own, he allowed her to raise him and lead him to the plush covered chaise longue in the corner of his chamber. Once seated, she levered off his boots carefully and set them aside. She removed his zucchetto and her little fingers began to release the fastenings of his heavy tunic.  
"What are you d...?"  
"Peace! You need to be comfortable."  
He acquiesced reluctantly.  
She eased his shoulders free of the jerkin, leaving him in his black undershirt. Taking his legs, she turned him sideways, feet up onto the seat and sat next to him, so she could then gently pull him back, his head in her lap.  
He seemed nervous, fidgety, reluctant to turn himself over to her hands, the feeling was alien to him. From her pocket, Minette took a small glass vial. Immediately, he sat up, eyes wide.  
"What's this? Poison!" He exclaimed.  
She uncorked the tiny bottle and held it, first to her own nose, then to his...he sniffed it suspiciously.  
"It's oil of lavender," she smiled, as, relieved and satisfied it could do him no harm, he laid his head down again.  
Placing a drop or two of the oil on each of his temples, she began to massage gently. Her hands then moving through the curls of his hair and into his scalp, across his forehead, eyebrows and the bridge of his prominent nose. Finally working down to the tension in his neck and shoulders. His eyelids fluttered and closed, and he let out a deep sigh.  
Gradually his face relaxed, mouth slightly open.  
"Breathe the scent deeply, in through your nose and out through your mouth." She said softly, as her fingers continued to circle.  
The rhythm of his chest slowed, rising and falling easily, for some twenty minutes or more. Eventually he opened his eyes, the scent of lavender filling his nostrils still. He felt as if waking from a deep sleep. He gazed into her face, above him, and pulled her down into a kiss. Her fingers caressed his cheek and chin, her other hand sliding under his shirt, untucking it from his breeches.  
He sat up then, arousal clear to see, he turned, pulling her round and under him, his own hand stroking up between her thighs.  
This time he was not rough, or forced, but sensual, and passionate, and when he took her, it was not purely for his own pleasure, but for hers too. Her reward for easing his pain, was to be allowed to come, and when the feeling pulsed through her, she drew him closer, holding him tight...

"I am yours!" She whispered, "yours and yours alone."

For the first time, they spent the whole night together. Usually she was dismissed to her own residence when he had finished toying with her. Tonight, she curled, naked at his side. Sleep would not come for him, however, his mind fretting over affairs of state.  
"What is it, Armand, what ails you?"  
"My meeting tomorrow with the Spanish ambassador, I am worried my beloved France will be forced into war. A war we cannot win, it will prove to be our downfall, our ruination."  
"I need to be clear in my mind as to my bargaining ploy, I am playing a dangerous game, with one hand tied behind my back."  
His long fingers pinched the bridge of his nose, and his furrowed brow, his eyes screwed tight with searing pain.  
Minette sat up, and drawing a robe around her, slid out of the bed, taking his hand in hers,  
"Come...pray with me," She said, "we will ask God for guidance. His strength will fortify you and show you the way." She lit the candles and the sensor. An aroma of sandalwood pervaded the room.  
Richelieu was impressed with her piety, and knelt at the altar beside her, praying for succour in his hour of need. Beseeching God to intercede, to grant him the power of mind to speak as an arbitrator between factions and negotiate for the future of the land he loved.  
As he rose, he felt Minette's tiny hand close around his own.  
"Amen." She said.

Before dawn, she left him. Returning in the carriage to her own cold bed. He no longer locked her in chastity, but she never touched herself, no matter how much she ached. Only he could touch her, only he could make her feel the intensity of emotion she needed. She was his. Body and soul.  
He could control her, deny her, not even allow her to speak sometimes. Make her kneel, make her crawl; he could be cruel, on the one hand, threatening to beat her, or kind on the other, with a caress, but it only made her love him more.  
To him, she was just another mistress, a pawn in the game, a plaything, at least that's what she thought, but lately, he seemed softer.  
She was no longer frightened of him, but she was frightened for him, his stance against the Hapsbergs made him many powerful enemies, there had been failed attempts on his life before, there might be again.

He would frequently send for her now, whenever the pain in his head became too much to bear. Only she seemed to be able to ease his suffering.  
Her patience and stoicism were balm to him, healing and restorative. Her compliance to his every whim, without complaint, enduring everything he could throw at her; his moods, his desires, his anger, his love, were astonishing to him.  
He could no longer imagine not being able to send for her, and have her come to him.  
She had broken him in.

I originally intended this to be four episodes (or chapters) but it's growing...and I now have six...so I'll make no more predictions until I know I'm finished. But the ending is written and still stands!


	4. Chapter 4 I Will Take

This chapter is a bit hardcore on the abuse front. So be aware. It was quite acceptable to beat women in the 17th century, in fact there were actually written guidelines as to what a master could inflict on a servant (both male and female) depending on the misdemeanour. Female servants also frequently became pregnant by their masters, (a good deal of the sex was non-consensual) and whilst that meant disgrace for her, there was no stain on the character of the protagonist. So in the context of the story, I feel it's acceptable to write it. I in no way wish to offend anyone, so if you have any issues with these topics, please don't read the chapter.

CHAPTER FOUR.

I WILL TAKE.

The hour before dawn, everyone in the Residence was still sleeping. The house, where Richelieu kept his mistresses, was in a smart district of The City. It was known as The Residence to all, it was no secret who lived there.

Minette crept from her bed, dressing quickly and throwing on a heavy cloak. Pulling the hood well over her face, she tucked a bundle under the folds and slipped silently from the house.

The streets were almost deserted at this hour and she hurried on her way, glancing behind her nervously from time to time.

The poorer districts were a sprawling conurbation of run down houses and tenements, filthy streets and dubious characters. Keeping her bundle clutched tight to her chest, under the cape, she made eye contact with no one, head down, hood concealing her identity.

Reaching the door that was her destination, she knocked and was immediately admitted, a final glance around to check she'd not been observed. Half an hour later, she was out again, running now, as the light began to seep across the night sky and the first orange glow of the sunrise could be glimpsed.

Once back inside the house she called home, she replaced her clothes as they had been, folded over her chair, and hopped back into bed, falling into a grateful sleep.

It was evening before the carriage arrived.

As usual she was shown into The Cardinal's privy chamber.

Normally he would be at his desk, writing, or sipping a cup of wine, but today he was pacing up and down, hands steepled in front of his face. Brows furrowed, mouth a tight line, jaw muscle working.

One glance and Minette knew something was wrong. Keeping her eyes lowered, she began to loosen her clothing, as he usually required her to do.

"DON'T!" He barked.

A frisson of fear passed through her. She shuddered involuntarily.

He came to stand in front of her, close. His breath against her face. His voice was measured, but there was an undercurrent of anger, barely concealed.

"Do you have something to confess to me?"

"No, Your Eminence." She answered. Not daring to look up.

His hand came back without warning, striking her across the face. She reeled against the blow.

"LIAR!" He cried.

Hand to her face, eye watering from the sting, she sank to her knees at his feet.

"Do you know what happens, when you lie to me, when you disappoint me?

Minette did not reply.

"You are punished." He continued,"What do you have to say for yourself?"

"Nothing, Your Eminence."

"Did you think I would not discover your late night liaisons? I have spies everywhere. The man you met with will be punished too, he will learn what it is to be on the receiving end of my wrath, and so will you."

A sharp intake of breath was the only emotion she betrayed.

His body was shaking with suppressed anger, he grabbed her arms roughly and hauled her across the room, throwing her down in the corner, where a metal ring hung, fixed to the wall.

"You are a whore, a harlot, and you will be treated as such." He shouted, venom in every word.

Pulling her arms together in front of her, he tied her wrists roughly, then passed the rope through the ring, bringing her to her feet.

Viciously he ripped down her clothing, exposing her back and buttocks, she could see his face, a mixture of rage and, oddly, hurt and betrayal. He had threatened this before, but never delivered.

With the first thwack of the birch, she cried out. He hit her again and then again, jaw tightly clenched, eyes blazing. After her initial cry, Minette, bit her lip, closed her eyes and didn't make another sound. Not a murmur, not so much as a whimper. The pain and sting of the blows washed over her, she floated above it all. Silently she prayed to God for it to be over.

"Who do you belong to?" He yelled, between strikes.

"You...I belong to you, you are my Master." She whispered.

"Again! Say it."

"I am yours."

The beating ceased, and she sagged to her knees, arms jerked upwards by the rope. He released her and she fell forwards, laying on the floor.

"Get up!"

She staggered to her feet, and this time he looked into her face. There were no tears in her eyes now, her look was resolute, determined but not defiant. Richelieu couldn't make it out at all. She'd as much as admitted her guilt by her silence. She made no effort to defend herself, make excuses; nothing...just silence, and acceptance. It was unnerving.

Still, he couldn't be lenient, she must be taught a lesson, had it been any other woman, he would have cast her off immediately. But she had soothed his headache, when nothing the physicians gave him helped, she seemed such a devoted little thing, so pliable. No, she would be punished, she would not transgress again, he would hang on to her for a while yet.

Minette swayed on her feet, and he caught her in his arms as she fainted.

When she came to, she was laying on his bed. Her back and buttocks were on fire, searing, stinging pain. His hands were warm against the insides of her thighs, before she had even come fully to her senses, he was parting her legs and pushing inside her roughly.

"Take this, little whore," he grunted, " I am your Lord and Master, no one shall have you but me."

He was still clothed, his breeches open, boots still on. Her dress was torn, her chemise too, her skirts hitched up by him as he took her. She closed her eyes, each stroke was hurting her, but she knew it would soon stop, he wouldn't last long, so aroused was he, by the sight of her, torn and dishevelled, fresh from his discipline.

He finished, throwing back his head as he pulsed, riding his peak.

He rolled away, and stood up, tucking himself into his clothes with satisfaction. Minette lay still, breathing heavily.

"Clean yourself, then go!" He said, without looking at her. "Tell your maidservant to lock you in the harness again, you are no longer to be trusted."

"Yes, Master." She replied.

Gathering her things, she stood, on shaky legs. As she passed him, she suddenly fell to her knees at his feet, her hands around his ankles, her face against his boots.

"God bless you, Master." She said, and rising again, she left the room.

Her maidservant tended the welts on her back, with great care. Minette knew she had betrayed her, but she was in The Cardinal's employ, she too had to be loyal, to preserve herself, she bore her no ill will for that. He could so easily have discarded her, cast her out, taken a new mistress, her life would have been over, thank god he'd been merciful, she thought.

Richelieu's faithful retainer entered his chambers.

"I have the information you required, Your Eminence." He bowed low.

"Tell me, who is the fellow, whose skin I need to flay from his body?"

"There is no man, Your Eminence."

The Cardinal turned sharply, eyebrows arched in surprise.

"It would appear the address is the domicile of the young Mademoiselle's sister." He continued, his voice quavered slightly.

"Her sister?"

"The house is a brothel, Sire. It seems both the young women in question were cast aside by their father, following their mothers infidelity."

"I knew all about that," he snapped, "but a sister was never mentioned. Mademoiselle D'Auvergne was sent to court, to see if she could secure a husband, or a benefactor."

"They were sent together, Your Eminence. It seems the sister, wasn't so successful. The father gave them nothing before he died, but their wits to survive on. Her name is Sophie, she has recently given birth to a child."

"Is that why Mademoiselle was visiting, in the dead of night?"

"My sources tell me, she was providing them with food, Your Eminence. Stolen from the kitchens at The Residence."

"I see...you may go, and thank you."

"Your Eminence." The manservant bowed again and left the room.

Richelieu, sat back in his chair. Thoughtful. So, she had not defended herself because she was protecting her sister. She would rather take a beating and be branded a slut, than betray a loved one and tell the truth. She, who had ample food herself; food provided for her, by him, would rather go without, to give to her sibling, who would otherwise starve.

This was a singular young woman.

When she told him, 'I am yours,' she meant it. She had not betrayed him. He had punished her, almost forced himself upon her, and she had endured it all, without complaint, without a word to save herself; so compliant, so accepting, and yet, inwardly, so strong and undaunted.

So certain, was he, that he had bent her to his will. Now he could see, this was not the case at all, he had only made her more stoic.


	5. Chapter 5 I will give

This more or less follows the scenario in the Musketeers series. ( but my own take on it and fitting the concept of my storyline)...one of the first attempts on Richelieu's life.

Most of the medical stuff in this chapter is correct. Bleeding was common practice in the 17th century. The fact that it weakened the patient, rather than doing good, was not recognised. It was considered efficacious to release bad 'choler', such as infection or toxins. Ipecacuanha was discovered from South America in around 1600 and was known as 'vomit root' it was widely used by The Cardinal's time as an emetic.

CHAPTER FIVE.

I WILL GIVE.

The sound of the carriage woke her. It was the middle of the night. She rose, quickly and dressed herself.

The welts on her back had almost healed. They were a reminder to The Cardinal, of what he had done to her, and she liked to make sure he saw them when they were together. He never made mention of that evening, never referred to it at all. But he had released her from the harness and was more gentle with her subsequently.

She was unaware that her maid was now supplying food to Sophie, and that it was upon Richelieu's instructions.

On reaching the hall, she was surprised to see The Cardinal's manservant, pacing restlessly.

She looked at him questioningly.

"He is sick." He began, wringing his hands, "he is asking for you. Will you come?"

"I'll get my things." She replied without hesitation.

Entering his chamber, the manservant by her side, she was in time to see his physician, beside the bed, and lancet in his hand. The Cardinal had a porcelain bleeding bowl under his elbow, his life blood flowing freely into it.

She glanced at the servant and signalled him with a frown and a shake of her head.

"That's enough." The retainer said, tugging the doctor's arm. The physician made to protest, but the stern look the servant gave him, changed his mind. Taking the bowl, he moved away and left the room.

Minette sat on the edge of the bed.

"Take his arm," she instructed the Man," press firmly over that incision with your thumb, until I say to stop."

Richelieu was not unconscious, but very nearly so.

To her surprise the servant obeyed her, without question. She reached across to his face, lifting his eyelids in turn, then feeling for the pulse at his wrist.

"When was he taken ill? She asked briskly.

"After supper," the Man replied.

"Why did you not come for me sooner?" She cried.

"We didn't know what was wrong, we thought he was just mildly unwell, then he became suddenly worse, so we called the physician, but he kept asking for you...so..."

"What did he eat and drink at supper? She asked, placing her hand on his hot forehead.

"A little wine, a chicken dish, with sauce, and mushrooms. Some bread..."

"Mushrooms? Who prepared the food?"

"The new cook, he came recommended, he started last week...oh my Lord!" He gasped, "poisoned?"

"I think so, and it's bad. I need someone to go to the Apothecary, I need some Ipecacuanha, and I need it quickly, you had better send someone who can run, if you can't yourself and you need to hurry...GO...QUICKLY!"

The servant dropped his master's arm and fled, without a word.

Minette turned to her Lord and Master. His pulse was weak, his breathing laboured, the physician bleeding him had weakened him further, if he fell into unconsciousness he would not be able to swallow, and she needed him to be able to do that.

She pushed her arm underneath his head and raised it, slapping his cheeks lightly,

"Armand! Armand! Wake up! Open your eyes. Come on, do it. Do it for me."

His eyelids opened, as if weighted with lead.

"Minette?" He murmured.

"Yes, I'm here, my Lord...and I need you to wake, and talk to me. Come along now, sit up a little."

He tried to raise himself, but couldn't manage.

"You've been poisoned, and I need you to stay awake, you need to fight it. Armand, you need to stay alive. Talk to me."

She hauled him up with all her strength, supporting his head.

"You came." His words were slurred. "I didn't think you would."

"Of course I came, you are my Master, I am yours." She replied.

His head fell back, but she pulled it forward...

"No...no sleeping, come on, you need to stay awake!"

He was slipping under,

"God in Heaven, be quick," she cried, " just a few more minutes, please Lord." Her prayer uttered, aloud.

The servant entered, breathless, carrying a glass vial.

"Thank God," she sighed. "Put a few drops in some water, quickly man."

Holding the glass to Richelieu's lips, and with the retainers help, she made him drink.

"Armand...drink this, drink it down, come on now...please."

The liquid ran down his throat, and he swallowed, with a cough and a splutter.

She set down the glass, and turned back to the servant,

"This will work rapidly," she said, "you need to help me, it's going to make him very very sick indeed."

Together they helped the Cardinal to the edge of the bed, his head flopping over. Minette held a bowl between his knees. It was not long before he was beset by cramping stomach pains, he groaned and cried out, and began to writhe in agony.

"What have you done to him?" The servant looked terrified.

"I'm trying to save him." She replied, "the only way I know how, if we leave him, he will die."

With that Richelieu began to heave and retch, sweat breaking on his brow, and trickling down his face. His curly head was soaked, and plastered down, his face grey and pallid. He vomited over and over again, until he was exhausted and there was nothing but bile.

The hours ticked by, the first signs of dawn found the manservant asleep in the Cardinal's chair. Minette was at her Master's bedside, he too was sleeping peacefully. While she laved his forehead with a cool damp cloth. His chest rose and fell evenly, eyelids fluttering slightly as he slumbered. His hands spread on top of the coverlet, twitched from time to time. She was so weary that her body felt numb, but she couldn't rest until he was sure he was out of danger.

Finally her head drooped, her eyes closing. With her fingers clasping his, she let her forehead sink down until it rested on their two hands.

Armand Jean Du Plessis opened his eyes on a day, that by rights, he should never have seen. Turning his head on the pillow, he saw Minette resting there. The cloth beside her hand where she had relinquished her grip on it. He saw his faithful Man, snoring blissfully.

Raising himself slightly, the movement painful and slow, he felt terribly weak, but he was alive. He had been saved. He hardly knew how.

His motion stirred the sleeper, she raised her head languidly, her long hair was loose, down her back, her eyes red rimmed, her face weary.

"Master?" She whispered. His fingers tightened on hers.

The servant joined them.

"Let us say a prayer of thanks for my deliverance," he said, he took one of each of their hands in his own and recited a collect of thanksgiving, to which they both ended, "Amen."

Whilst Minette removed herself to freshen her face. The servant remained close by his master.

"What happened?" The Cardinal questioned him.

"She saved you, my Lord," he replied, " as God is my witness, Sire, she knew what to do, you would have died, I'm sure of it. I doubted her at first, but she alone saved you. She didn't hesitate."

"You may go, get some rest."

The servant bowed and left quietly.

Minette returned, walking wearily. He called her to his side.

"How did you know what to do, are you a witch?" He asked, a slight smile on his lips.

"I have an older brother, Master, he is an Apothecary. It is not considered proper education for a young woman, but I was interested, and I'm a fast learner, so he taught me all the lotions and potions, all the poisons and their antidotes, all the healing herbs and roots, berries and leaves, and how to use them. That's how. I'm not a witch, I assure you!"

He was kissing her then, warmly, tenderly, his hand touching her cheek.

"Go home," he whispered. "Rest. I'll send the carriage for you tomorrow."

"You deserve a reward for this." He said, as she stood, to leave.

"No reward, Master, you are alive. That is reward enough."

She turned and left him. His eyes following her until she disappeared through the doorway.

That evening he instructed his housekeeper to find employment for Sophie, as a seamstress or a maid, anywhere where there was a vacancy in his household. That would be Minette's reward.

But he would not tell her just yet.


	6. Chapter 6 His

The Musketeer, Aramis, makes an appearance in this chapter, I have to say, he is my favourite of the Three, and that is the only reason I chose him!

There's more sexy stuff too, where all this story is coming from beats me...I still can't believe it's actually me writing it!

CHAPTER SIX

HIS.

Christmas at court was a long succession of festivities. Cardinal Richelieu, as the King's First Minister, was present at all the events.  
Minette, as a member of a noble family, also attended in her own right.  
The main feast was a lavish affair.  
Seated at a vast table, raised on a dais, were the King and Queen, the Cardinal, and close members of their respective retinues.  
Wine flowed, the table groaned under the weight of the dishes on display. Roast fowl, pheasant, partridge, pigeon, and in the centre, a whole swan, complete with head and neck and carefully reapplied wings and feathers, so that it looked alive. There were fish dishes, bream and pike. A suckling piglet on an oval platter. Bread and fruits, and beautiful crystallised sweetmeats, nuts and cheeses. Enough to feed a whole city.  
Richelieu himself, ate sparingly. His constitution since the attempt on his life, had suffered, and large, rich meals made him bilious.  
Minette watched him fondly, from her seat in the hall. Since hearing of his care for her sister and the trouble he'd gone to on her behalf, there was nothing she wouldn't do for him. She owed him so much.  
His eyes roamed the crowd constantly, he often whispered conspiratorially, behind his hand, to his manservant, who stood behind him, ever at his elbow.  
After the main meal concluded, tables were rearranged, clearing the floor for dancing, musicians entered the gallery at the far end of the large hall.  
Ladies stood or sat around the perimeter, fanning themselves. The men spoke together, in groups nearby.  
The dancing was opened by their Majesties, stepping to the centre of the floor, beginning with the Gavotte.  
As a Duke, in his own right, Richelieu could have participated, but as a man of God, he preferred to observe. Remaining in his seat, smiling slightly, applauding the revellers from time to time, as one dance ended and another began.  
Minette felt rather out of place in the throng of fine ladies. She was wearing a silk gown, paid for by her master and benefactor. She sat, demure, hands folded in her lap, listening and enjoying the music, watching the swirl of the gowns and the gaiety of the scene.  
The Cardinal had seldom seen her look more lovely. The gown was most becoming, the shade of blue complimenting her fair colouring. Her hair was braided and curled behind her head, and fastened with flowers. A slight pinkness to her cheeks, eyes shining.  
Her gaze often strayed towards him, he saw it, but did not acknowledge.

So enraptured by the sights and sounds, had she been, that, at first, she did not notice the man.  
Until, that is, he came and stood in front of her, blocking her view. He bowed low, doffing his hat.  
She looked up, into a pair of deep brown eyes. Handsome, with a sharp chin, moustachioed, and bearded. Dark hair, worn long, tall, slim build, with a winning smile.  
"Rene d'Herblay at your service mademoiselle..." He said.  
Minette blushed deeply, looking away from his face and down into her lap.  
"But my friends call me Aramis." He continued.  
"And you are...?"  
"Attempting to watch the dance." She replied, softly.  
"But, my lady, a beautiful creature like you, should not be observing, she should be taking part."  
He offered his hand, bowing again.  
"May I...?"  
Minette was flustered, what should she do? She didn't want to appear rude, but...she loved to dance.  
Her eyes strayed to the dais, where her Master sat. He was temporarily occupied with a foreign guest, and was not attending to her. She glanced back to the hand, still held towards her.  
"I would like to dance, thank you." She smiled and placed her little hand in his.  
He swept her out onto the floor, with a flourish, and stood at her right, one arm behind her, at her waist, the other holding her hand outstretched, as they stood side by side, as the music began.  
He was certainly a beautiful dancer. His arms strong and muscular as he lifted her up, hands firmly on either side of her waist, swung her round and set her down again, in perfect time, as the dance continued.  
Flushed and excited, Minette, whirled around as he held one hand, passing underneath their two arms, as the round began again.  
From his seat, his attention now renewed, Richelieu watched. His eyes followed her delicate movements, her toes, peeping from under her gown, the admiring glances of the dancers around them, as together, they circled the floor. Both so handsome, young, beautifully matched. The spectators applauded, as the music ended. He bowed to her, and she curtsied back. Eyes shining with delight. He escorted her to a seat, and offered her some wine.  
"I didn't catch your name, mademoiselle." He said, wiping his brow.  
"I didn't give it." She said, shyly.  
"Aramis, I think your charms are wasted here." Said a voice, at his elbow.  
Richelieu stood at least two inches taller than the Musketeer. His face, a mask of friendliness, barely concealed a brooding menace.  
Aramis looked at The Cardinal, then at his dance partner, glancing from one to the other. Minette looked at the floor, face turned away, burning. The hand that still held hers, thumb brushing lightly over the back, fell away, as realisation dawned.  
"I had no idea the young lady was spoken for." He said, staring at Minette in disbelief.  
"Pardon me, mademoiselle. I have no wish to compromise you." He bowed again towards her, and with a look of disdain, towards Richelieu, turned on his heel and marched away.  
Minette gave her Master a pleading look.  
"Master, I..."  
"Shhh! Not now...I'll deal with you later!"

They journeyed back to The Cardinal's apartments together. Seated side by side. Neither spoke. Not a glance was shared.  
Minette was miserable. Why had she not refused the dance? Now she would suffer, goodness knows what. All because she was flattered by the attention of a handsome man.  
Once inside his private chamber, she braced herself for what was to come.  
"So..." he began, "what do you have to say for yourself?"  
"Nothing, Your Eminence."  
"Nothing again, heh! Nothing to say at all!"  
She looked into his face, her gaze resigned. She sighed.  
"You have already made up your mind Armand. Nothing I say will make a whit of difference."  
He took hold of her wrist, his fingers digging into the flesh, so tight did he grip.  
"Flirting with, of all people, a Musketeer! You really chose well!"  
"I did not flirt, he flirted with me, I didn't even tell him my name."  
"You really are a poor liar."  
Minette twisted her wrist in his grasp, but could not free it.  
"Punish me then," she said, tears beginning to come, " that's what you want to do, to make me sorry."  
He moved her arm so that it was now behind her back, painfully, holding tighter still.  
"It seems I should." He said, through gritted teeth.  
She turned herself against her own arm, a searing stab going through her shoulder.  
She suddenly shouted at him, tears falling fast,  
"DO IT THEN! BEAT ME! HURT ME! I DON'T CARE!, " she was sobbing now," I don't care!" She subsided, voice broken, "do what you like!"  
It was so out of character, and Richelieu was so surprised by her outburst, that for a moment, he did and said nothing.  
Then in a rush of emotion, he crashed his mouth against hers, kissing her hungrily, desperately.  
She whimpered, throwing her arms around his neck, in an effort to pull him closer.  
"You drive me to madness." He murmured, between kisses, " you tease me, you make me do these things."  
He was tugging at her clothes now, hard and aching, fingers in her hair, pushing her backwards against the wall.  
"You are mine, I will not see you with any other."  
His fingers fumbled to undo his breeches, then began to hitch up her skirts.  
"Oh, God...Armand..." She breathed, feeling him pushing against her.  
She bought her legs up and around his waist, crossing her heels at his back, as he held her firmly, buttressed by the wall. When she felt his length penetrate her, she threw back her head and cried out.  
"I am the only one who touches you, you belong to me, " he panted out, between thrusts.  
"I am yours Armand, all yours" she whispered into his ear.  
He came hard, pumping into her, grinding against her afterwards until she came too.  
She was gasping for air, as if running for her life. But she cupped his face in her hands and kissed him deep and long.  
He stepped back, releasing her legs, moving away from her. But she held him tight, still. Instead of freeing himself, he scooped her into his arms, carried her and laid her on his bed.  
Her skirts were still around her waist, his breeches still open. He lay half over her, caressing her, fondling her between her thighs, wet with his own semen, and she kissed him again and again, his face, the hollow of his throat, his neck, collarbones.  
"Don't hurt me any more, Armand, you have me, I belong to you. I want no other...Please."  
He did not reply, only captured her lips once more, and finally, cradling her, they fell asleep together.


	7. Chapter 7 Hers

I'm afraid the collapse scene in this chapter is a shameless borrowing of Marianne Dashwood and her reaction to loosing Willoughby. From Jane Austen's Sense and Sensibility. I first read this book as a young teenager (that was a while ago!) and the scene is so haunting and so beautiful, I had to use it!

CHAPTER SEVEN.

HERS.

The New Year brought snow, and biting cold winds, to Paris. Cardinal Richelieu was travelling, to meet the Dutch Ambassador and discuss Spain's influence over the Low Countries, which were a constant threat to France. He journeyed through Flanders to The Netherlands, and was away for almost a month. Minette thought of him often, he was like pleasure and pain, he was sometimes cruel, but when he was kind, she needed him, wanted him. Now she yearned to see him.

On his return, she expected the carriage to arrive, to summon her. But it did not come.  
A week passed, she heard no word. She was frantic with worry. Was he sick? She heard no rumour of this, she heard nothing at all. She knew it was a long and arduous journey to undertake in Winter, when the roads were treacherous and the threat of ambush in the dark was ever present. No news reached her.  
At the end of the week, she finally heard the crunch of gravel as the coach arrived.

The door of his chamber opened, to reveal him at his desk, writing, as he often was. Minette made to go to him, to welcome him home, praise God that he was safe, when she was aware of another presence.  
Seated on the chaise longue, was a young woman. Dark, attractive, but not pretty, a teenager from her look. Her legs were crossed seductively, her face in a pout.  
Richelieu watched her face, and the range of emotions he read there, carefully.  
"This is Therese. She is from Bruges. She will be joining you at The Residence."  
Minette stared at her Master. She swallowed thickly.  
So this was how it was to be. She was to be supplanted. Her position surrendered to this younger girl, whose attributes were clear to see.  
"You will see to it, that she knows the routine, and what is expected of her."  
No words would come, her legs felt as if no blood flowed through them. A feeling of nausea rose, from the pit of her stomach.  
"Minette? Have you lost your voice?"  
"No, Master." But she almost had, her reply was barely audible.  
She had always feared this moment, but somehow, she'd thought it wouldn't happen.  
Of course, he could do as he pleased, have as many mistresses as he chose, sleep with as many women as he wanted, none would refuse him, such was the power he wielded. Had he grown tired of her? Was she not enough for him, she had saved his life, but not for herself. Were they to share him? It was unthinkable. To think that she should now compete for his affection. She couldn't do it.  
All these thoughts tumbled through her head, as she stood there. Only dimly aware that he was speaking again.  
"I'm sure you will make her feel at home."  
A single tear coursed down her cheek, the feeling that she would be sick, seemed to rise in her throat, she needed to leave the room, if she were not to vomit on his floor.  
The decision was made, she bolted for the door, wrenched it open, and was copiously sick in the corridor outside.  
To her surprise, seconds afterwards, Richelieu followed her. She leaned heavily against the wall, one hand on her stomach, head down, she shook all over. In the haze that seemed to overtake her, the feeling as though she were drowning, not being able to catch her breath, head swimming. She was aware of muffled voices; a call for assistance. Soft hands supporting her, as she sank down, deathly white, faint. She felt herself lifted in strong arms, the smell of his leather tunic. A soft bed, a hand holding hers.

Her body went into complete shut down. A whole month on edge, cooped up at The Residence, waiting for him to return to her, worrying for his safety, hearing no word, had shattered her nerves, this was the final straw.  
The utter terror of being cast out, to who knew what fate; no money, no possessions, nowhere to go, no friends, family. Being separated from him. Her whole life suddenly crashing in front of her eyes.  
She cried out to Heaven, calling for help, clutching at the sheets, and the hand that was within reach.  
She sank rapidly, all hope extinguished, or so it seemed to her befuddled brain.

Night came and she burned with a fever that would not abate. And yet she shivered, so cold that nothing would make her feel warm. Shadows and faces moved and shimmered before her misty eyes, but she could not make them out. Her head tossed from side to side in her delirium, she spoke rapid words, garbled, unintelligible.  
Only one word seemed to make sense. "Master."  
A voice reached her, a calm voice, deep, melodic, speaking a prayer. It was the only thing that seemed to ease her.  
It was another day, before the fever broke, and she slept fitfully.  
A hand rested on her brow...  
"She feels cool now, Your Eminence. I think the worst is over."  
"Thank God!"  
Slowly, Minette opened her eyes. The drawn, tired face of The Cardinal, stared down at her dolefully.  
"Minette, cherie, are you back with us?"  
She did not reply, but felt for his fingers as they rested close to hers.  
"Don't frighten me like that again, little one." He said, touching her cheek and returning the squeeze of her hand.  
"Therese?" She whispered.  
"I sent her away. She has gone...I never touched h..."  
Before he could finish, Minette pulled him down to her by the chain around his neck, her lips on his.  
"My Master." She murmured.

Recovered, and whole again, she opened her eyes from a long dreamless sleep. The grey head on the pillow next to her snored peacefully. Propping herself on one elbow, she watched him. The line of his jaw relaxed, slack. His hair tousled. By the string ties of his embroidered nightshirt, the hollow of his throat and Adam's apple, one of her favourite parts of him, moved slightly as he breathed in and out. She loved to kiss him there, touch along the length of his collarbones with her lips.  
Hers.  
Just as she mused on these thoughts, he stirred and woke. He turned towards her questioningly, she smiled and tugged on the little goatee on his chin, gently.  
They kissed, and he rolled onto her, hand sliding under her nightdress. Oh god...when he touched her like this, she wanted him so much. It was like a force of nature, he ignited her, stoked the fire and she was helpless to resist. His need to dominate her was still there, but he was no longer cruel in that intent. He enjoyed her pleasure now as much as his own, and did not seek to deny her.  
Loving her physically was more about giving now than purely taking. Yes, she was assuredly his. But he was also undeniably hers.


	8. Chapter 8 For You

The Cardinal gives Minette a gift...I'm posting this chapter and the next at the same time as they kinda go together. The gifts are symbolic, in that both parties want to express their love but cannot, or will not.

More excuse for gratuitous nooky I'm afraid...why did I start writing this story! Oh and there's more Aramis...

CHAPTER EIGHT

FOR YOU.

Spiralling upwards out of a hazy dream. She stretched herself and yawned. She was alone in the bed. He had risen early, before cock-crow, and left her to sleep. If she stayed in his bed at night, he usually required her to return to The Residence before the business of the day began. But since her illness, he seemed happy for her to stay, and would return to her, if he could, during the day.  
It was Easter Sunday and he left her there, to celebrate early morning Eucharist, with the Royal Party at the Notre Dame Cathedral in the city.  
Before leaving, he leaned across her, as she stirred, drowsy from slumber, he kissed her with great tenderness.  
"Stay." He whispered, " I will return by nine, we will break our fast together."

Spring sunshine, thin and watery stole through the heavy drapes at the windows. The candles had guttered and extinguished themselves. Birds were singing lustily. The Palace was waking, sounds of the impending day, filtering up through the casement.  
She rose, washed and dressed, and made her way down to the gardens.  
The Cardinal's apartments in Paris, were spacious and richly appointed. The Palace complex was vast, divided into wings, each a separate entity from the others. The Royal apartments were at the centre of all things and Richelieu was closest to them, by dint of being First Minister.  
Directly beneath his rooms were his own private gardens, and Minette loved to walk there whenever she could.  
Today, the air was fresh from recent rains. Blossom hung on the trees, which formed a guard of honour on either side of a gravel walk. Through an arch in the tall yew hedge, was her favourite spot. A beautiful knot garden, a square, divided into four in a cross shape, bordered by box hedging. Inside each square were aromatic herbs; thyme, marjoram, rosemary. There were lavenders, and rose bushes, a pergola draped with wisteria and a small fountain playing in the centre, it's tinkling music a delight to the ear. In one corner was a Greek style arbour, with stone columns and climbing scented jasmine on a trellis, where she could sit on a stone bench in the cool shade, and read or just enjoy the scent of the flowers and the song of the birds.  
She wandered the paths, her fingers idly brushing the foliage as she passed, pausing beside a sundial, then looking up as the sun climbed slowly in the sky.

The figure, was moving quickly, furtively, looking from side to side as he hurried. He stopped abruptly as he came face to face with her. She immediately recognised him. It was too late for him to pretend he hadn't seen her, so he swept a theatrical bow, doffing his hat.  
"Well, if it isn't my beautiful dance partner!" His smile was wide and he looked disarmingly handsome.  
She looked him up and down. Blushing with embarrassment.  
His clothes were dishevelled, shirt untucked, breeches half unfastened. His coat slung rakishly over his arm.  
"What are you doing here? These gardens are private."  
"They are also an excellent shortcut, Mademoiselle!" He smirked.  
He moved towards her, but she backed away.  
"You'd better leave, and quickly." She said.  
"There is no hurry, when there is beauty such as yours to look at."  
"If you are caught you will be punished, and so will I." She moved to pass him.  
He caught her wrist and stayed her.  
"It irks me that that vile monster should even lay a hand on you, that you are forced into his bed..."  
Minette snatched her arm away angrily.  
"Do not presume to comment on what you do not understand." She cried.  
"Poor, little fool," he returned, pityingly," he has you in his thrall."  
She smacked his face, with all the strength she could muster.  
"How dare you stand there and say that? You, who are clearly running from your own debauched liaison? He is one hundred times the man you are, Aramis. Do not judge what you do not know. I would rather be in his bed than in yours. Now go, before I call the guards!"  
"This is not over, my pretty one." He retorted, rubbing his smarting cheek, " I will see you yet, I would like to know what makes you tick!"  
"Get away from me, Musketeer, I would die before I let you anywhere near me."  
"We shall see!" He laughed, and grabbing her hand, he kissed it lightly and was gone.

The meeting unnerved her. It heightened her emotions, she knew her words to Aramis were true. Her Master had become more to her than someone like him could ever be, young and good looking, though he was. On returning to the rooms, she found The Cardinal already returned.  
As she entered, he turned to greet her,  
"Ah, little one, there you are, I..."  
She ran across the room to him, flinging her arms around his neck, kissing him fervently, over and over.  
"Armand!" She crooned.  
"Great Heavens," he exclaimed, "what's all this? I've only been away a few hours!"  
She had never expressed to him in words, that she loved him, although she realised now, that, surely, it must be true, this feeling could not be purely gratitude. Nor did she ever expect him to say he loved her, a man did not profess his love for a mistress. One such as her, was a commodity, to be kept, used and then discarded.  
He sat in his chair, bringing her onto his lap, her favourite place to be. Arms encircling her.  
"Have you eaten?" He asked, nuzzling her face.  
"No, I waited for you."  
"Then let's have something, I am hungry. And afterwards, I have something for you."  
They moved to the table together, the maid servant brought eggs and bread, fruit and milk posset for them to share.  
Wiping his lips on a cloth, as he finished, Richelieu rose, and fetched a small parcel. He handed it to Minette, and kissed her hand.  
"For you."  
She looked from him, to the gift, and back again. Almost apprehensive.  
"Open it." He urged.  
Her fingers trembled as she unwrapped the cloth covering, and revealed the present.  
It was a beautiful, prayer book, hand bound in soft goatskin, dyed a deep red. Each page was vellum, illuminated with hand painted images from the scriptures, finished in gold leaf, lapis blue, ochre and all colours, exquisite lettering in manuscript characters. Inside the fly leaf, in his own flowing spidery hand, was written;

Pour vous, ma chère. Votre propre maître. *(For you, my dear one. Your own master).

Her chest ached, she turned the small volume over in her hands, then held it to her bosom. He watched her, expectant, hopeful. She began to cry, and he took her into his arms, soothing her, his face against her neck, touching his lips to her skin.  
"It's the most beautiful thing I've ever possessed. Thank you Armand." She dried her tears, and he continued to caress her gently. Looking into his face, then, she could see his pupils dilated, aroused.  
Minette climbed from his embrace, stood in front of him and began to undress, slowly and deliberately, loosening her laces, exposing her beautiful skin, laying her clothes aside. He remained seated, watching her avidly, tongue darting out to wet his lips.  
Naked, she knelt at his feet in an act of supplication.  
"God Bless you, my dear Master."  
She raised herself, her hands moving up his thighs, as his breathing became more ragged. Still on her knees, she parted his legs and moved between them, reaching up to unfasten his tunic, pulling his undershirt over his head, and placing it with her own garments. Stroking down his chest, to his navel and the waist of his black breeches, she loosened them, and he lifted his buttocks so that she could slide them off. He was hard, jutting out from his body, his head resting back now, eyes closed, mouth open slightly. The little sound that left him as her mouth closed around him, made her inwardly smile. Her movement unhurried, leisurely, it was all he could do to stop himself thrusting upwards. She stood up, and he opened his eyes at the break in contact. Straddling him with her legs, she lowered herself onto him, adjusting to the feel, filling her deliciously, as she began to undulate her hips. Their lips touched, pressing together, he moaned against her mouth.  
"Little one..."  
"Master!" She whispered, as her rhythm increased. Hearing her say that word, pushed him over the edge, it made him feel powerful, omnipotent, masterful, and he loved it.  
She followed after him, sitting more upright across his lap to greater enhance the sensation. Before sinking into his chest, sated, blissful.

When she returned to The Residence, later that afternoon, clutching her precious gift, her heart was full.


	9. Chapter 9 For Me

Captain Treville pops up in this chapter! Danger threatens Minette, but the Cardinal is there...

The embroidered nightshirt idea, I got from the brilliant scene of the Cardinal, in the Musketeers, rising from his sick bed, which was turned into a gif by one of my lovely Tumblr friends...Peter never looked nicer!

CHAPTER NINE.

FOR ME.

During the summer months the Royal Court moved outside of Paris, to escape the heat and the disease of the congested city. The halcyon days of summer belied the dark clouds brewing all around them, as the unrest increased. It was as if they were removed from it all, in a golden haze, a bubble, one that would soon be popped.  
Cardinal Richelieu owned a summer residence, in the countryside, beyond the outskirts. Removed from the main court but close enough to be accessible to the King, whenever he was required, it was a modest villa by Royal standards, but large enough to contain his entire retinue. His Red Guards were on constant alert, and Richelieu had many meetings with Captain Treville to discuss the dangers. Although, here, he felt himself reasonably safe.  
Minette was allowed to accompany him. She was given her own rooms, for her private use, and her maidservant, who had become devoted to her, was allowed to be with her mistress.  
The house also contained a small private chapel where the household could celebrate Mass, over which the Cardinal himself usually officiated, or where he could pray alone if he wished.  
Minette would go there every morning; it was cool inside, light came through the stained glass and created soothing coloured patterns on the walls, candles burned constantly and a hanging incense sensor swung, smoking, from the ceiling. She would sit in the front oak pew, and read from her little prayer book that her Master had given her.

Richelieu gave her a small monthly allowance, for personal expenditure. Since she wanted for very little, she often gave money to her sister, to assist with the bringing up of her child, thus supplementing her income. The rest she saved, meticulously. Over time it mounted to a considerable sum.

To pass the warm, languid days, her small fingers turned to sewing, at which she was adept. The exquisite embroidery on her Master's nightshirts and undershirts, were all fashioned by her.  
She also played the spinnet, with great accomplishment. A beautifully painted, walnut instrument stood in the drawing room of the villa. The Cardinal loved to hear her play.  
He was less busy, and had more free time, the King being occupied less with affairs of state and more with revels and hunting, artistic pursuits, such as balls, and plays, theatrical displays and frivolous entertainments.  
Such entertainments were not to Richelieu's taste, he attended out of duty, but if he could excuse himself, he did, he preferred a quieter, more restful atmosphere.  
It was the company of Minette, he sought, more often than not. To stroll with her around the grounds; sit with her at mealtimes; read to her or listen to her play and sing; pray quietly with her, or, when the balmy night air billowed the muslin curtains in his room, to lie beside her, embracing, loving, these became his chief delights.

Captain Treville had arrived early to discuss security arrangements for a forthcoming visit that the King was undertaking.  
They sat together over a cold drink, in the gardens, a shady spot under the tree canopy.  
Minette made herself scarce, she knew that matters of state were none of her affair, and her presence was not welcomed.  
She wandered away across the lawns and towards a cool wooded area, she had discovered on a previous excursion, there was a gardener's bothy there, and sheep pens, close to the perimeter of The Cardinal's lands.

When the attack came, she was caught completely off guard. No one was nearby and the Red Guard were concentrated at the gates and around the house.  
A hand grabbed her, covering her mouth, a blade point held at her neck. She had no time to react. A hoarse voice whispered,  
"Make a sound and I'll cut your throat, Mademoiselle. You are coming with me."  
Her mind worked quickly. She had a few seconds to make her decision...  
She bit down hard on the hand, and kicked back with her foot, at the same moment. With a cry her assailant lost his grip and she ran.  
Ran for her life.  
She screamed and screamed as if her lungs would burst.  
She knew the man was close on her heels, but she didn't look back.  
Her cries alerted Treville and Richelieu, who immediately ran towards the direction of the sound.  
As they reached the trees the sight of her met their eyes. A large, fully grown man, grappling with the tiny woman, who bit and kicked and scratched and fought, for all she was worth.  
Treville drew his sword, and pelted forwards. Richelieu, peeled away and cut around, behind, unseen. Seeing how things stood, the assailant finally grabbed Minette round her throat, facing Treville,  
"Come any closer, and I'll slit her from ear to ear." He said menacingly.  
"Oh, I don't think you will." A voice close to his head whispered quietly. From inside his boot, the Cardinal had drawn a short bladed knife, with one deft motion, he brought it up between the ribs of the vagabond, who, releasing his grip on Minette, staggered forwards.  
Richelieu caught his mistress in his arms. Treville grabbed the man, and hauled him away, bleeding profusely.  
Only later, did the man confess to being part of a larger plot to kidnap Minette, to ransom her, for a high price.  
Knowing how fond of her The Cardinal had become, made her useful and valuable. She had not been aware of her own danger. Nor, for that matter, had he. Threats to his own person were almost daily occurrences, but he had not considered the danger to her. He would be more vigilant on the future.  
Later, that afternoon, bruised and battered, Minette was curled beside her beloved Master. He had not hesitated to save her, at great risk to himself.  
When they made love that night, he was so tender, so gentle, she almost wept to feel it.  
His whispered endearments,  
"My little one, ma chère," made her feel as if her heart would burst.  
She wanted, very much, to find a way to thank him. To show him how much his patronage, his care, his affection meant to her.

The King's jeweller was a personal friend of Richelieu, and often visited when The Cardinal had commissions for him. Baubles for the Queen, paste settings for masques and theatricals, or personal gifts to courtiers from the Royal couple. It was on one of these occasions that she managed to waylay him and give him her request.  
She paid him from the money she had so carefully saved, a substantial sum though, for one such as she.

Torrential rain was falling, soaking the earth and cooling the searing heat of summer. The air smelled of the freshness, and the scent of the drooping roses that grew against the wall, by the window of the breakfast room, wafted in on the breeze.  
A small table was laid as usual, so that Richelieu and Minette could sit, in the cool air and eat together.  
The house was quiet. They were alone, the servants having retreated, leaving them in peace.  
Minette, finished her food. He noticed how restless she seemed, as if waiting for a certain moment.  
She pushed back her chair, and rose to her feet, excusing herself, she disappeared off to her room, returning a few moments later. He watched her curiously. She held her hands behind her back.  
"What's this? Is something amiss?" He asked, eyebrow raised.  
"Master, I have something for you."  
She came to stand before him, where he sat, and he reached behind her, clasping her hands and bringing them forward. Between her fingers she held a small box.  
His eyes searched her face, seeing her nervousness.  
He took the box in his long fingers and opened it carefully.  
Inside was an oval of gold, designed in a masculine fashion, egg shaped. It opened in two halves, and in one side was a tiny enamelled portrait of her, in the other, a lock of her hair, braided and curled into a spiral shape. A link in the top would take a chain or thong to fix to a man's purse string, to wear at his waist, as most men did at that time.  
His lip trembled, as he turned it over in his hand, his thumb caressing the precious metal.  
"For me? You had this made, for me?" His voice was a rasp, broken.  
"For you," she replied," to thank you for being my Master. When you look at it, perhaps, sometimes, you'll think of me, and remember."  
Pulling her to him he rested his face against her stomach, as she stood before his chair. Her arms came around his head and shoulder, her hand threading through his grey curls.  
He raised his eyes to her and she bent and kissed him.  
Instead of fixing the gift to his purse, he found a length of black ribbon, unfastening his tunic and shirt, he threaded the ribbon through the link, and hung the oval around his neck tucking it under his clothes.  
"This is where this belongs," he said, "close to my heart, just like you."  
She smiled, her eyes shining.


	10. Chapter 10 Doubts

Following the giving of gifts, we think we know how they both feel. In this and the next chapter I am attempting to convey the difference between the feelings they both show on the outside and what they really feel on the inside, but deny to themselves and each other.

In this chapter we meet all three of the Musketeers. Unrest in France increased during the reign of Louis XIII. The chief problem was keeping the French nobility in check, and Louis relied heavily on Richelieu to do this. His spy network was notorious for discovering and punishing the culprits.

CHAPTER TEN.

DOUBTS.

Minette hated the coach ride from The Residence to the Cardinal's apartments. The route passed through a run down district, where it was always best to sit well back in the seat and not look out, lest one attract unwanted attention.  
The autumn rains had turned the roads to a quagmire, a fetid mass of mud and dead leaves, human filth and horse manure. There had been a great deal of unrest in the city of late. She had heard tell of the ruthlessness of her Cardinal in rooting out these insurgents, using his intricate network of spies and informants. But the monarchy was threatened, war loomed, these were dangerous times.  
A sound of musket fire resounded from an alleyway as she passed. The horse reared, whinnying in terror. There was a jolt and the carriage came to a halt, leaning precariously to one side.  
An angry mob formed outside one of the seedy inns, a fight had broken out. A knot of baying men gathered to watch the brawl.  
As the crowd surged and chanted, the coach was rocked from side to side, buffeted and knocked. The door was wrenched open, hands grabbed her, and before she knew what was happening she was standing, alone, surrounded by a sea of lecherous faces.  
Minette was very frightened indeed. Most of these men were drunk, none in the slightest bit respectful and all rather excited by the sight of a beautiful, well dressed, young lady.  
They formed a circle around her.  
"Look at this pretty little thing."  
"Give us a kiss mademoiselle, don't be shy."  
One of the mob pushed her, she fell into the arms of the man in front of her, who turned her and pushed her back. Soon she was being shoved from one to another, round and round, as they taunted her. Someone grabbed her and kissed her hard, his breath stinking of beer, other hands fondled her breasts, through her dress, leering and stroking her face. She screamed and tried to fight, but there were too many.  
Her carriage driver ran for help, he could not fight the rabble alone either.  
She was forced to the ground into the mud, by a swarthy drunkard, tugging and pulling at her clothes, rending her dress, in an effort to put his hand up her skirt, as the crowd bayed for more.  
Minette was like a caged animal, she kicked and spat, catching one assailant in the face with her foot, she was immediately smacked in the mouth for her trouble, splitting her lip.  
"Take that you little whore, there's more where that came fro..."  
Hit suddenly from behind, the man stopped in mid sentence, groaned, and fell forwards onto her.  
Minette rolled him away roughly, the mob parted and fell silent, she looked up to see three faces, looking down at her, one of whom was Aramis.  
"Thrice met, m'lady!" He said.  
"Porthos! Athos! Meet the Cardinal's little pet dog."  
"Ah,"said Athos, "so this is the young miss, that has melted the heart of the frozen Red Man."  
"I can't see the attraction." Laughed Porthos, " well, at least, not at this precise moment, she looks a little...dishevelled!"  
They all chuckled together.  
"Are you all going to stand there laughing or are you going to help me?"  
She could taste the blood from her mouth as she spoke, tears were not far away.  
Aramis bent, and scooped her up in his strong arms.  
"Come along, mademoiselle, you shall ride with me!"  
Her arm around his neck, his face inches from hers, he began to carry her towards his horse.  
"Your carriage is broken, we will take you to our lodging house, where you can rest until another coach can be procured for you." He said.  
Setting her on the ground, he mounted the bay stallion, and Porthos, lifting her from the waist, seated her side saddle, in front of him.  
Holding the reins and encircling her tightly, he urged the horse forwards and away they rode.  
"I told you it was not over, for us." He whispered, as they trotted onwards.  
"There is no 'us'," she retorted, crossly.  
"Of course, I could just set you down here, and let you walk the rest of the way." He laughed.  
"Please...Aramis, be a gentleman, if that is possible for you, you know I am spoken for."  
He held her uncomfortably close, and with the movement of the horse she was pushed against him more, she was very much aware of his proximity.  
They reached their lodging, and Captain Treville came out to meet them.  
"What have we here?" He said, then recognised Minette. His face grew concerned, for what it was worth, he liked the young lady, he thought her courageous and rather sweet, he had no wish to see her treated badly.  
"Please, Captain, " she pleaded, "send Him word, to send a carriage for me...please."  
"Consider it done, m'lady," he said kindly, when he saw the state of her.  
"Aramis, see what can be done to clean the young lady up a little, make her more presentable."

Once inside, a basin of warm water, a wash cloth and towel were set on a table beside her. She was bruised and sore, filthy from head to toe, her dress torn, hair dishevelled, mouth bleeding still.  
Aramis took the cloth and twisting a corner, dipped it into the bowl and bought it to the cut lip.  
"Agh!" She winced, pulling away.  
"Easy!" He said softly, moving closer, gently dabbing at the blood, "keep still, young firebrand, I'm trying to help you."  
She allowed him to clean her face, his brown eyes were looking into hers as he continued to touch her mouth with the cloth, she didn't seem to be able to look away, no matter how hard she tried.  
His lips touched hers, fluttering at first, then deeper, kissing her fully, she felt herself sinking into him and tried to pull away, but he tugged her into his body, mouth moving on hers, tongue seeking entrance, he tasted so good.  
Minette managed finally to push him back, her lips on fire, her breathing harsh. She brought up her hand to slap him, for his impertinence, but he grabbed her wrist and prevented her.  
"No, mademoiselle, you'll not hit me a second time."  
"You take advantage of me. I can't fight you." Her voice was weak and trembling.  
"Please...Aramis, don't do this. I am His...I don't want you."  
He smiled, then, and moved back a little.  
"Oh, but I think you do." His tone was confident, brazen.  
"You don't know what I want, you don't know me at all."  
"But I'd like to, I'd love to, I'd like to know what goes on behind those crystal blue eyes of yours."  
He touched her cheek with his thumb, sweeping it over the cheekbone.  
"Nothing, Aramis, nothing for you at any rate. Please let me go...I want to go to Him."  
She began to cry then, overwrought, and feeling so confused in her mind by his kiss.  
He scanned her face, in wonder.  
"You're in love with Him! " he breathed, " Good God! Yes...I believe you are!"  
"How is it possible? To love such as Him?"  
"Please, Aramis, I beg you...don't. I need Him, and for what it's worth, I think that He needs me."  
The musketeer threw back his head and laughed.  
"Until someone else comes along, then he'll cast you aside like an old shoe! Don't think it hasn't happened before, and with far more beautiful than you. He's a cruel, heartless bastard, nothing more! And he uses everyone to his own ends!"  
"Well, if that's the case, so be it." She replied, " but I'll not betray Him, with you."  
"Your loyalty is misguided, " he said, " you'll be sorry in the end. He will destroy you, like he destroys everything he touches."  
"I'd be even sorrier with you, Aramis, your reputation precedes you, I've heard all about you, you have difficulty keeping yourself inside your breeches, how many women have YOU conquered? How many mistresses? What makes you different from Him?"  
"I am not cruel, I am a lover...you could find out, I could show you if you let me. If I could make love to you, I would make you scream for me!"  
"In another life, maybe, but not this one. I do not desire you, you are handsome to be sure, your kiss may be like the heat of the sun, but there is nothing behind it. No truth do I read in your eyes, only lust. Let me go, Aramis. It is not your concern, what fate awaits me."  
He backed away from her then, and she tried her best to collect herself, as Porthos came to say her carriage had arrived.  
The three Musketeers escorted her, Aramis riding beside the carriage window, frequently looking in at the passenger, each glance a smouldering fire. As the coach drew up at His apartments, she could see the Cardinal sweeping across the court, cloak swinging behind him majestically.  
His face was a thunder cloud when he saw who the escort was. He thanked them curtly and one by one they peeled away. Aramis was the last to turn, and his last look towards Minette was one of undisguised passion. She could not fail notice it, nor did Richelieu.

"I sent for your maid, when I heard what happened." The Cardinal said, as they entered his chambers.  
"She will help you wash and tidy yourself. You may use my garderobe. I will see you when you are done."  
He left, not looking back. Not an embrace. Not a loving glance. Nothing. He seemed cold, rigid.  
She emerged, her hair washed clean, a fresh dress, her lip was swollen now, a purple bruise forming around the cut.  
He was standing at his desk, back towards her as she entered.  
Crossing the room quietly she came behind him and threaded her arms around his middle, laying her head against his back. There was a slight intake of breath at the gesture, and he closed his hands over her own.  
"Master?" She whispered.  
"It seems I am fated to share your affections with another." He remarked, his voice barely suppressing his rising anger.  
She loosened her embrace, as he turned, staring down at her.  
"What do you mean?" Her face coloured.  
"I am not blind, Minette, nor am I a fool. Do not treat me as such. I've seen the way he looks at you."  
"You speak of Aramis?...I do not desire him, I am yours."  
" I will not do it, Minette, I...WILL...NOT."

The fury broke like a wave against the rocks, seething, boiling. With one gesture and a roar he swept all the contents from his desk. Papers, books, pens all flew across the floor, the inkwell smashed into a thousand pieces.

"I do not believe you, the look he gave you belies you. Speak the truth to me...what has passed between you?" He cried.  
"There is nothing between us, I do not trust him."

Richelieu, laughed, but the laugh was hollow, empty.

"You are drawn to him and you don't even know it. That's the way Aramis works. He is like a snake, coiled in a basket; lift the lid and he will strike! You still have not answered my question..." he said, holding her arms and shaking her.

"We kissed, that is all, one kiss, and, God help me, I found myself comparing it to yours."

The confession burst from her in a torrent.  
The Cardinal sat down heavily in his chair, his face showed a simmering rage, but also a deep hurt.

"I am a bad person. I do not deserve such as you...Master..." She knelt down, " I need to be punished."

"Yes, you do, and I will do it, make no mistake." He shouted.

Before he could make a move, Minette stood, and fetched the birch stick from its place behind his chair. With her eyes downcast, she handed it to him. He took it without looking at her at all. In silence, she loosened her clothing and pulled it down, baring herself to him, she turned away and bent herself over the empty desktop, stretching her arms out to the sides.

"Punish me, Master." She whispered," I'm sorry I had such thoughts. I am yours, and shall have no other."

The bite of pain that hit her, made her draw in her breath, but she neither flinched, nor made a sound.

"You belong to me. I own you. You are bought and paid for. " He hit her a second time, her eyes closed.

"Thank you Master. Thank you. I deserve it, I've done wrong."

He hit once more, and then set the stick aside. He trembled, his anger ebbing, emotion taking its place, helping her up, three stripes across her back, he pulled her to him and held her fast.

"No more...no more, Minette, it should be Aramis, who is thus disciplined, not you."

She tugged at her dress, trying to cover her breasts in her shame, but abandoned the attempt, letting herself sink into his body, shoulders heaving, sobs wracking her.

He allowed her to sit in his lap, as he knew it was her favourite thing to do. She was not seductive or aroused, instead, she seemed tiny, vulnerable.

She curled her legs up, bringing her knees towards his chest, her head bent and resting on his shoulder, his arms surrounding her.

'God in Heaven! What have I become? I am every bit as cruel as people say.' He thought. 'I have surely just proved that. And she? My 'Dear One', so little self worth, caring nothing for herself, what have I made her into? Something less than human.' He felt both guilt and shame too.

"What did he say to you, about me...speak the truth." he spoke now, barely above a whisper, his wrath gone.  
"He told me you were cruel, and heartless." She said, softly.  
"And what did you say?" She heard his tone change. Sorrow barely disguised. His hand played with her hair, twisting it in his fingers.  
"I told him he doesn't know you. He doesn't know me either."  
"It's a dangerous game you play. You cannot pit us one against the other. If you seek to make me jealous, you alone will suffer. And you will end up with nothing."  
A stab of fear and regret, went through her, that she even entertained the thought of what it might be like to be with a man like Aramis, even for a moment.  
"I think it is he who plays games."  
His voice softened then, and became bitter.  
"And he is a master at it, Minette. Don't flatter yourself that he's interested in you. He isn't. He's interested in scoring points from me. He despises me. And what better way to get to me than trying to steal my mistress, from under my nose, and bed her? Think how he would boast in the inns at night when he'd done that. Think how they would all laugh at the Cuckold Cardinal. I know just how his mind works."  
The mist lifted from her eyes, 'yes, that is exactly what Aramis had been doing.  
Toying with me, worming his way into my affections, with those eyes...that kiss.  
God!...what an idiot I've been to even think he was attracted to me for my own sake...' She thought,  
"Then he is a fool." She replied. "His efforts are wasted, and his fun will be thwarted."  
"You are not cruel, you are not heartless, not to me." She snuggled against him.

'Still she only sees me as her friend and benefactor,' he mused, 'she just does not see me...'  
"Never forget, little one, it is your gift that sits over my heart. Do not ask for more of me. You have as much of me as I can give."

After evening prayers, they sat together, quietly. Both in contemplative mood. They had barely touched all evening, he seemed subdued, not wishing to make love to her as he usually did.  
"From now on you will be escorted from The Residence, by members of my private guard. Armed. Your maid will accompany you. You can no longer travel alone."  
"Yes, Your Eminence."  
"I think it is time for you to leave. I have an early start tomorrow, and I am weary."  
She rose, and came around the table to him. She stood behind him and put her arms around his neck, her face against his.  
"I'm truly sorry, Armand. Forgive me?"  
"For what?" His hands touched hers, their cheeks brushing together.  
"For doubting you. For a moment, I was blind. But now I see clearly. I am yours, no matter what. What you give to me, of yourself, is enough. I want nothing more."  
He rose then, and kissed her swollen mouth, very gently, soft butterfly kisses, his moustache tickling her face and chin.  
"You are my own, little one, I need no other."

She parted from him, and as she walked to the carriage, she glanced up at his window. He was standing, framed in the light, gazing down. She raised her hand to her mouth, then towards him. He raised _his_ hand very slightly in acknowledgement, then turned away.


	11. Chapter 11 Certainties

In this penultimate chapter, we see that the Cardinal, although ruthless, does have a softer side, but he cannot afford to be seen to show weakness to his enemies, but he can show his feelings to her...

Sickness and disease in the 17th century was an ever present threat. Plague and smallpox were potent killers, as were tuberculosis, or, consumption, sweating sickness and water borne diseases such as typhoid and cholera. Many children, of both rich and poor alike died before their fifth birthday.

CHAPTER ELEVEN.

CERTAINTIES.

If The Cardinal, thought any more about Minette's relationship with Aramis, he didn't refer it. He had other things on his mind. Affairs of state took up a great deal of his time.

His health too, since the attempt on his life, although improved considerably over many months, still had not regained its former robust state. He suffered from digestive ailments frequently, and the headaches, to which he was prone, did not cease, making him tetchy and irritable.

Minette urged him to eat plain food, avoid the rich heavy banquets and eat small amounts often rather than large helpings. He found her advice to be efficacious, and thereafter followed it, and subsequently felt better.

He would send for her frequently to ease his pounding head. She was always patient with his moods, kind and devoted to him, which never ceased to surprise him. He only knew he was glad of her company.

His desire for her, remained undiminished, taking her into his bed whenever she visited him, she satisfied his lust, and if he could deny her release from time to time and leave her begging him for more, all the better. She was a needy little thing, putty in his hands, and leaving her aching for him ensured she remained submissive, which was, ultimately, how he liked her. Some things could not be compromised. Control fuelled his passion.

He ruthlessly hunted down and punished members of the anti-monarchist revolutionary factions and the nobility who tried to flex their political muscles. He ruled with an iron fist, no leniency, no quarter given. Minette saw and recognised all this, but she saw the other side of him too.

During that Autumn the Queen gave birth to a stillborn child, and was unwell. Sickness haunted the court all that season, beginning in the summer and continuing unabated. Young and old, weak and strong, rich and poor, none were immune.

The coach had called for her in the late afternoon, and the driver carried a message from Richelieu's housekeeper, under who's care her sister Sophie had been placed.

The Cardinal was not present on her arrival, having been called to meet with the Bishop of Lorraine.

She read and reread the message, as she waited for him to return.

It was a weeping and drawn face that met his gaze when he finally came in to her.

His concern was instantaneous. His own cares laid aside, he crossed the room to her and immediately held her close.

"My little one, what is it? What has happened? Have you seen Aramis again?"

She shook her head, unable to speak, through her tears, and handed him the letter.

 _Dear Mademoiselle,_

 _I regret to inform you that your sister and the child are gravely ill. She has been asking for you. I would be grateful if you could obtain leave from His Eminence to visit her._

 _Yours in Christ._

 _Madame Sauvage._

"My dearest one, of course you must go, and straight away. I'll call my Man to accompany you."

The week that followed showed her that her cruel Cardinal was not the person everyone seemed to think him. If this was her reward for her kindness to him, then it was richly deserved.

His thought and care for Minette during those days were akin to devotion. Nothing was too much trouble. She was allowed to visit her sister whenever she wished. A room was found for her so that she did not have to travel from The Residence each time. When Sophie's child passed away, he alone directed the undertaker and found a suitable priest to carry out the rites. And when, a few days later, the child's mother followed, he arranged for mother and child to be interred together and undertook to pay the funeral costs and the expenses for masses to be said for the souls of the dead, easing their passage through purgatory. He comforted and cared for his distraught mistress as if she were his own flesh and blood. Doing everything in his power to offer her succour.

Minette clung to him in those days, she had no one else, and he knew that. There were no lingering doubts in her heart about her Master now. Others may think him cruel, as they wished, but he had a job to fulfil. Outside of that there was no cruelty in him that she could attest to.

She knew with all certainty, that while he may never love her, he was capable of showing great kindness. That mattered a great deal. She cleaved to him more strongly than she had ever done. She was also certain, that even if she did not love him, she would do anything for him, and show her gratitude any way she could.

With her sister gone, Minette now had only her brother, whom she seldom saw now, as he lived so far away.

So, it was a great surprise when he arrived at court, to visit his youngest sister, and she discovered that her Master had orchestrated the meeting, and financed it.

That night she lay with him, tired but happy. To see her beloved sibling after so long, was a delight and her gratitude could not be adequately expressed.

"How can I ever thank you, or repay you, for all your many kindnesses to me." She asked him.

"You repay me each time you come here, each time you ease my head, each time I take you into my bed, and each time you show me your loyalty and devotion. I have the power to easily take all those things from you, if I wished, but you give them freely." He replied.

"I do not tire of you, Minette, as I have of my mistresses in the past, because you never ask anything of me, instead you wait for it to be given, you do not complain, you are constant and true, and I admire that."

"I do not need to ask you for things, Master, because you offer them up, without compunction. You know what I need and what is good for me. Long ago, the first day I came to you, I agreed to your terms, I have never regretted that choice. As God is my witness."

Her words aroused fire in him, burning desire, he kissed and caressed her. She moaned, as his mouth worked on and over her own. Opening her up. He took her; complete ownership, filling her, body and soul. He possessed her; totally, wholly, each time he entered her, making her gasp with want, urging him harder, needing to deepen the contact, arching her hips as he came, feeling the surge and pulse of him, completing her, whispering...'Master, my Lord and Master', as she came herself. Slowly returning to an even heartbeat afterwards, holding him and feeling the touch of his skin against hers, damp with sweat, warmth gently ebbing away.

No Musketeer could give her all this, of that she was completely certain.

Dark clouds loomed over Richelieu's beloved France, his grip on power remained, but outside his borders events were taking place that even he struggled to control. The mighty Hapsburg Empire, the Spanish hold over The Netherlands, The Holy Roman Empire, threatened and surrounded France, from without, whilst the powerful Dukes of the nobility threatened from within. The weakness of the king was plain for all to see, ruled as he was by his mother and his wife. Everyone knew that it was Richelieu who wielded the power, and propped up the Throne. He had many enemies, many who would be glad if he were no more and the king could be ousted or used as a puppet. Should anything happen to Louis, his only surviving son was still a small child, easy to manipulate and control. Such was the state of affairs that The Cardinal dealt with on a daily basis. He was forced to travel more and more, both around the country and beyond the borders. Arduous journeys of diplomacy and negotiation, which took him away from home and into danger. It was a certainty that the only person capable of holding France together at that time was The Cardinal himself.

Minette feared for him. She prayed on her knees until she was stiff and sore. Beseeching God to protect him, to keep him well, to keep him safe.

When he returned home and sent for her almost immediately. She ran in to him, flinging her arms around his neck and smothering his face with kisses.

He was taken aback by her show of affection.

"Goodness, little one, you almost knocked me over." He smiled, and returned her kisses, with a kiss of his own.

"Oh, Master, I have missed you so much. Thank God, you are safe."

She embraced him again, his head bowed down, resting against her in his weariness.

"Armand, come and rest, you look so very tired. You have had such a long journey."

His hand rubbed over his forehead and eyes, and he sighed.

"My dearest one, you don't know how good it is to see your little face. To hear words of comfort after so many days of rhetoric and falsehood. I am glad to be home. Truly glad."

Her fingers massaged his temples, and he rested his head back and closed his eyes.

"You must eat something, then rest. I will leave you to sleep."

"I will do as you suggest, but you must not leave me, I am exhausted, but I need your warmth and your caress. I need to feel you next to me. I have missed it more than I can say."

When he had been served food and wine, and had eaten his fill, Minette took him to the garderobe, she gently and soothingly removed his clothes; undoing the fastenings of his tunic, sliding him out of his undershirt, pressing her fingers into his tense shoulders and circling down his spine to the small of his back, as he flexed his arms and groaned, his aches and stiffness eased away. She noticed the oval she bought him, still hung around his neck, on its black ribbon.

She helped him to wash, ridding himself of the sweat and mud and grime of his journey. She dressed him tenderly, kissing his forehead, his hands, his lips, then led him to his bed, crawling in beside him and holding him close to her, as he relaxed, the metre of his breathing slowing, as he began to drift into sleep.

"I have dreamed of this, so many lonely nights." He whispered, as his eyes closed.

"So have I, Master. " she replied.

She lay beside him, in the dark, the single candle giving only a faint glow of light. He was with her again, they were together. He was her master, she was his mistress, he was a Man of the Cloth, she a poor noblewoman...how she wished they could be more.

He dreamed, and in his dream they walked side by side, openly. No hiding, nothing behind closed doors, proud to show her off, to have her on his arm.

They both knew that could never be, it was certain, their relationship would always be owner and owned, master and servant. Tears leaked out from under his closed eyes, and he stirred, reaching for her hand as he slept, she pressed her face against his, as she wept herself, their tears mingling, a ceaseless ache in her chest.


	12. Chapter 12 For France

This is the final chapter. It's been really enjoyable to write, I love this period in history and have read quite a few books about the post-Elizabethan century (1600-1700).

There was at least one failed assassination attempt on The Cardinal in 1636, (see Chapter Five. I Will Give) and during the time of 'the Great Conspiracies' there were probably several more. History has painted Richelieu as a monster, mostly taken from the pen of Alexandre Dumas. He was ambitious, certainly, but also fiercely patriotic and increasingly concerned by the actions of a weak King and the influence of his powerful wife's family, the power of the Nobility and the strength of the Hapsburgs. His demonisation in literature is largely false. I've tried as much as possible to avoid the Dumas version of Richelieu, and stick more to the historical events of the time, but from the point of view of the TV show and The Musketeers generally, one can't help but let Dumas' version creep in occasionally!

CHAPTER TWELVE.

FOR FRANCE.

Having returned to The Residence the day before, she was alone. She spent the previous two days at Richelieu's side, barely leaving his rooms. He returned to her frequently during the course of the day, whenever time allowed. He seemed to derive great comfort from her presence and spending even a few minutes in her calm air, seemed to ease the stresses and strains of his difficult day. Tiredness overtook her when she returned, and that night she fell into a deep sleep.

Minette woke from a torrid dream. There had been a black shadow, cloaked, the flash of a blade, and a thick ooze of blood.  
Bathed in sweat, she stumbled from the bed, to fetch a drink. So vivid was the vision that she trembled from head to foot.

By the time, later that day, and much earlier than usual, the carriage arrived for her, Minette was anxious and not a little surprised. She ran up to his chambers, thinking he must be sick...  
"Armand?"  
He was seated at his desk, when she entered, poring over documents and letters, his face dark and troubled. Head pounding relentlessly.  
Perching on his lap, she kissed him, caressing his face.  
"I have to go to Vienna."  
"What? Why?" Her voice fearful, she knew this to be the most perilous of journeys.  
"War is imminent. If France is not to be swept away, we need alliances."  
Her stomach churned and her voice grew louder, almost shrill.  
"But...it's so dangerous. You have only just returned home, you cannot travel again so soon. France needs you here, the King needs you here, please Armand, please, I don't want you to go, you must not!... I won't let you!"  
He pushed her from him, roughly, she fell onto the floor at the foot of his chair. His voice was raised too, harsh and cold.  
"I am the King's First Minister, it is my duty to go. Just as it is your duty to do my bidding without question. I am not being strict enough with you, I am becoming soft where you are concerned, you have ideas above your station. Do not presume to tell me what to do, or you will receive a beating for your trouble."  
Grabbing the birch stick, from behind his chair, he raised it to her, eyes blazing. Holding one of her hands firmly, he bought it down across her upturned palm with a thwack and she cowered away, weeping. Then, just as suddenly, he saw the look of anguish on her face, and his anger subsided, he sat down in his chair, again, slumped over, hands against his throbbing forehead.  
Minette stood before him, small but suddenly braver than she had ever been. Shaking, crying, but looking defiantly at him.  
"I'm sorry, Armand...I'm terrified for you, I dreamed a horrible dream, and I don't know it's meaning...there was a cloaked figure...I saw blood.  
I'm so frightened for you...I LOVE YOU! ...I LOVE YOU! I LOVE YOU! ...I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"  
He stared at her in astonishment. Eyes of ice blue bored into her own.  
"You love me?"  
"OF COURSE I LOVE YOU!...I worship you. I am yours. Even when you no longer want me."  
Flushed and bewildered, he raised himself. He leaned his hands against the desktop, back toward her, shoulders hunched, head bowed.  
"Leave me." He said quietly.  
"But Armand..."  
"You are dismissed!" He cried. "GO!... NOW!"  
"When I first saw you, I thought you cruel, and I've since heard others tell of your cruelty, and I've defended you," she said quietly, still clutching her stinging hand, she crossed the room, towards the door, " but you have NEVER been more cruel than you are right now."  
Her words stung him.  
The door closed noiselessly behind her. He stood still for many minutes after, staring at his trembling hands, ashen faced, eyes damp.

It was a month or more before he sent for her again. He returned from Vienna more than a week previously, and she feared he would never summon her again. Her anger had vanished moments after leaving him that day, she deeply regretted her words. She loved him, she swore never to say it to him, but he was everything, he was her life.  
Richelieu was at prayer, when she was shown in to him. Making the sign of the cross, he made to rise from his knees, but stumbled forwards. Minette instinctively reached for his elbow to steady him. The change in him was marked, following his journey.  
She was shocked to see him.  
His face was grey with weariness, bone tired, slack and drawn. Long days of coach travel exhausted him. Fruitless meetings and discussions made his head spin. She helped him to his chair and poured him wine. The hand that reached for the cup shook.  
Pity filled her heart.  
"You are tired, Master," she said, "you should rest."  
"I cannot. My head...my body won't allow me."  
"Rest with me."  
She led him to his bed, tenderly, he disrobed and she bade him lay down. Then crawled under the coverlet next to him and cradled him against her bosom, gentle massage to his head, until his breathing changed, chest rising and falling gently, he slept deeply.  
He'd thought to punish her for her rash words, by not sending for her, but he only punished himself. She alone could soothe him.  
His power over her seemed to have diminished, he seemed to lack the strength to wield it. It was almost is if their roles were reversed. Minette, however, remained her same impassive self. Impervious to the change. He seemed old, suddenly, and sick, he needed her, although he would never admit it, either to himself or her.  
All his efforts had been in vain, France was at war, and he was worn out. Everything he did, he did for France. Minette knew that he alone was vital to the survival of the country, without him, France could be overrun.  
His beloved country, that he sought to preserve, the monarchy he sought to protect, the power of the nobles he sought to curb, all in vain.

Both waking, in the early hours, he turned over in her arms, a tiny whimper leaving his lips. She kissed him gently, touched and stroked him, and it drove him almost to madness; he had denied his own need, tried to ignore it all the time he'd been away, and following his return, but it just made him think of her night and day, whilst he was apart from her. He was desperate, enflamed, barely able to control himself.  
"Take me." She murmured, "I'm yours to take."  
She moved herself under him, positioning him by her entrance. Without a word, he slammed into her, grunting animal-like, straining every sinew in his desire, he needed to be inside her, each stroke more powerful, he needed to know he was still in charge.  
She knew this.  
So she began to beg.  
She begged and pleaded with him, to allow her to come, he was her Master...she whispered to him...she belonged to him, she would do anything he asked...and...there he was, with his final thrusts as he emptied himself into her, and she followed him with her own pulses of climax.  
Exhausted, he rolled away, curling up, debauched, still wet with his own seed and her arousal, he breathed deeply and slept again, wrapped in her embrace.

With the morning, a faint drizzle dampened the streets.  
Opening his eyes, he felt her warmth beside him. She was still sleeping. He took her hand in his own and kissed it. Her eyes fluttered, she was awake. She touched his face, and smiled.  
"Did you sleep well, Your Eminence?"  
He felt more rested than he had for many days.  
"I did, thanks to you." He replied.  
"God Bless you, and keep you." She said softly.

They broke their fast, briefly, together. Outside the relative peace of his privy chamber, messengers came and went, the corridors teemed with people. Everything seemed upside down, urgent and hurried. Missives were hastily penned and despatched. Brisk meetings over a cup of wine, bread and cheese, desk covered in parchments, maps, papers. Soldiers to deploy, borders to protect, food and lodgings for visiting dignitaries to prepare.  
Religious rites to perform, morning Mass to be celebrated, prayers offered, psalms sung. So much to attend to, so easy to be off guard.

There, in the shadows, a hidden menace. Black cloak, hooded, blade concealed. Waiting.

Her coach arrived, to return to The Residence, and, unusually, Richelieu took a few moments to escort Minette down to it himself, his hand resting on her sleeve protectively. Concerned for her safety in these uncertain days, and eager to spend a few more precious moments at her side, although he did not express the feeling to her, or to himself. Carriages and horses were clattering across the outer court, men at arms marching, vendors and tradesmen thronging, bringing supplies to the Palace kitchens.  
She spotted the hooded man, at the last moment, just as Armand took her hand to help her inside. As in her dream, he seemed to materialise from nowhere, a flash of metal was all she saw, as he lunged.

Screaming a warning, she threw herself across her Master's body, knocking him to one side, both of them falling almost between the legs of the horse, as it stood harnessed in the traces.  
Servants rushed forward to help, some tried to grab the assailant but he melted into the crowd.  
Richelieu lay on his back on the damp cobbles, stunned for a moment, Minette sprawled across him, a warm wetness seeping through his tunic.

For a minute he couldn't understand why he felt no pain. Then the realisation hit him, the wetness was not his own.  
He raised his head, peering down, feeling for her, she groaned in agony, as he eased himself from under her, cradling her head in his hands and letting her body rest across his legs. A dark ooze seeped from her chest, thick and coagulating, soaking into the material of her dress and into his jerkin.  
He cried out, in anguish,  
"NO! Minette. NO!"  
"Armand..." she whispered, clutching the chain of his cross, pulling him down to her, "it hurts...it hurts...hold me...stay with me...please..."  
"WHY? Minette?" He let out a sob, smoothing back her hair with his fingers, "why did you do it?"  
"Because I love you, Armand, I am yours."  
His face tilted skywards, rain falling faster now, into his eyes.  
"Lord in Heaven, I beg you, don't take her." He wailed into the empty air.  
His fingers pressed against the wound, red and sticky, as he tried to stem the flow. He lifted her, shunning all help, limp and pale he bore her to his rooms, where he lay her down and bade his manservant send for the physician.  
He leaned over her, face close, and placed a kiss on her cool lips.  
"Minette, my dear one, my own little one, mon petit chou...don't leave me."  
Her eyes opened again, and she smiled.  
"Do you love me?" She whispered, a trickle of blood came from the corner of her mouth.  
"God! Yes!... More than my life!... I love you for a thousand lifetimes! I love you so much that my heart aches with it. Oh, Minette, why did you do it?" He cried.  
She reached to touch his face, and smiled again...  
"For France..."  
Her hand fell, her eyes closed, and her last breath left her lips with a sigh.

How long he sat there, holding her, rocking gently, he couldn't say. Tunic and cloak soaked with her blood. Weeping. Whispering ' I love you' over and over. Whispering prayers and incantations. His man-servant, stood outside the doorway, letting no one enter, keeping the curious at bay, fending off even the most important. No one must be allowed to intrude on his stricken master.

She was buried quietly in the small cemetery at the city limits. A simple stone, bearing her name, and that she was loved. He could not attend, either as himself, or incognito. It could not be. A wreath of lilies, the only sign of her connection to him. On the funeral day, he remained in his chamber, with strict instructions not to be disturbed. His altar candles lit, he knelt in silent prayer for over an hour, lacking the will or the capability to rise. Empty, bereft, sick at heart.

Armand Jean Du Plessis was not long following her; his enemies circled, his health was failing. His power waned. His personally trained successor, Mazarin, was ready to take his place.  
He died the following year, still plagued with headaches that none but she could assuage, and, after lying in state, was interred at The Sorbonne.  
On his own instructions, unbeknownst to anyone, his faithful man-servant saw to it, that he was buried with her locket. He wore it at all times, close to his heart. It contained the lock of her hair and her portrait. Shortly after her funeral, onto the outer casing, he instructed the jeweller to add an inscription...  
Mon Amour, Ma Vie, Minette.*

(*My Love, My Life, Minette.)

Well, that's the end. Sorry to disappoint you all by killing the heroine, but it was always my intention, right from the start. The story grew as I went along and I'm hoping I've not gone for quantity over quality, considering it was only going to be four chapters originally.  
I also swore it would not be a love story in the conventional sense, and, of course, that's exactly what it turned into! I'm a hopeless romantic, I can't help myself! I hope, ultimately, you enjoyed my first attempt at writing The Cardinal. Thanks for reading and thanks for all your comments, they are much appreciated.


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